


Comfort Hold

by SashaDistan



Series: Space Husbands [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Clothed Sex, Cockwarming, Desperate Sex, Established Relationship, Feral Behavior, Floor Sex, Fluff and Smut, Half-Galra Keith (Voltron), Kink Discovery, M/M, No Dialogue, Not Voltron: Legendary Defender Season/Series 08 Compliant, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Purring Keith (Voltron), Size Difference, Spit As Lube, kabedon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:22:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23898205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SashaDistan/pseuds/SashaDistan
Summary: Keith is tense, feral, and doesn't want to talk about it. Luckily for him, his husband is very understanding, and is going to give him everything he needs, even if it does seem a bit unusual. Even for Keith.Or: the one with cockwarming as aftercare and no dialogue
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: Space Husbands [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1892728
Comments: 33
Kudos: 276





	Comfort Hold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [an_aphorism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_aphorism/gifts).



> Me and my niche niches are at it again. I make no apologies for that. I love cockwarming, it's awesome, and I hate writing dialogue. Why not combine the two with a heavy dash or feral and purring Keith?
> 
> Remember people, aftercare is just as important as sex.

They barely manage to trip through the door before they’ve got their hands in each other’s clothes. Keith fights the buttons of Shiro’s formal Garrison Admiral jacket, knowing his husband will hate it if he ruins it, as new uniform isn’t exactly easy to come by when they’re in deep space. Shiro is no less hasty, but far better coordinated as he locates the waist ties of Keith’s Senior Blade over-tunic and begins to open him up. Keith abandons his quest for a moment to hold Shiro’s face with both hands and kiss him until he’s dizzy from the lack of oxygen.

A whole day of diplomatic meetings might not have been so bad, Keith thinks, if it wasn’t for the fact that one ran over by an hour and caused them to miss lunch completely. And if there was another actual, purposeful reason for his attendance other than ‘you’re the Black Paladin of Voltron, you have to be there’. And if the third meeting hadn’t been continually interrupted by Slav with his percentages and useless statistics. Keith had wanted to kill him. Heck, Keith would have rather been teaching hand to hand combat skills to the Atlas Security personnel, rather than listen to Slav’s injections of dire boredom into an already wholly dull meeting, and he hates teaching.

They barely had time for half a dinner, and that was hours ago now. Keith is ravenous, bored, and has too much energy. And by the way Shiro is kissing him back – all teeth and tongue and no finesse – he’s not the only one who’s been wound way too tight by their day.

The moment the door slides shut behind them, they spin – whether Keith pulled Shiro with him or Shiro span them both and pushed he’s not sure – and Keith finds himself pressed up against the wall, one of Shiro’s meaty thighs sliding in between his own. He rocks his hips into the firm pressure, losing patience with Shiro’s jacket buttons at the spike of pleasure from the friction against his too-clothed cock. Gold buttons go skittering across the floor and Keith bites back a frustrated snarl as his newly formed claws snag in the material. Shiro doesn’t pause to help him, but presses the advantage of Keith being momentarily helpless, moving to mouth at the soft junction of his jaw and throat. Keith whines – the sort of needy noise he usually keeps himself from making – and spreads his stance as he finally pushes Shiro’s jacket from his broad shoulders.

Shiro leaves off kissing him to murmur happily in his ear, and Keith uses the opportunity to get his own mouth on his husband’s skin. He loves Shiro’s shoulders: loves the breadth of them, the deep definition of his muscles, the paleness of his skin, the texture and depth of every scar. He loves being with a man who looks like he can carry him with just one arm, and time and again Shiro has proven his stamina by holding Keith up against the nearest vertical surface and fucking him senseless. But Keith doesn’t have the patience, even for that. He ruts up against Shiro’s thigh, snarls as Shiro cages him in, his prosthetic hand smacking into the wall beside his head with a thump. He bites at Shiro when he chuckles at Keith’s desperation. Shiro doesn’t tease and pull away though, but slots his thigh in even closer, giving Keith more to rub himself against.

Keith’s sigh of relief is darkened by his instinctive desire for more, and he growls as he fists both hands in the thin fabric of Shiro’s undershirt. It’s fitted like a second skin and translucent enough for Keith to trace the shape of his nipples and purr over the deep ridges of his abdomen. He rubs himself against his husband, hips thrusting as his cock drags against Shiro’s thigh through too many layers of fabric. Getting naked will take too long though, and Keith can already feel the hazy heat of his orgasm building behind his eyes. He snaps his teeth shut on another growl, tongues at the tips of his fangs, and presses his forehead into Shiro’s massive chest as he pushes himself through his peak. He shakes, fire flooding through him as he comes in his clothes like a horny teenager.

He’s drawn out of his desperate panting by Shiro crooning wordlessly in his ear, clearly so proud of the effect he’s having on Keith, purely by fucking existing in the same space. The hand which cups his face is too gentle by far, and Keith thrusts aside the desire to give into oversensitivity, yanks his husband forward and sticks his tongue down his throat.

They topple into their quarters, Shiro catching himself with his prosthetic hand just before he would have actually crushed Keith with his superior bulk. Keith hooks one leg around Shiro’s hip and closes the gap between them by pulling himself up, fingers tightening around the back of Shiro’s neck, heedless of the tiny scratches his claws leave. Shiro gasps into his mouth, thrusting down into the heat of Keith even as the smaller man wiggles against him. Keith’s too strung out to act coy or pretend he doesn’t want what he wants. He wants Shiro to fuck him, and he wants it hours ago.

Shiro tuts as Keith’s claws catch in the fabric of his undershirt. He actually tuts, and Keith loses all semblance of his remaining patience. The shirt tears like paper under his hands and he cannot bring himself to care at all. The only clothes Keith wants Shiro to own right now are ones he’s not wearing. Shiro responds by pinning him firmly to the floor with his hips and the inspiring length of his hard dick. Before Keith can be joyful about it, Shiro snatches up both his wrists and yanks his arms up above his head with an annoyed growl. Keith should know better, Shiro is careful about his clothes and his appearance, especially his uniform, and destroying two garments was absolutely pushing that boundary. Keith struggles, but Shiro tightens white and blue prosthetic fingers around him firmly, his hand big enough to hold both of Keith’s limbs easily, and Keith knows the only way to break the hold is to seriously injure himself. He snaps his fangs, then yields as Shiro simply growls and pushes his tongue back into his mouth.

Keith unfurls into the kiss, going briefly boneless, reduced to nothing but lips and tongue as he is plundered by the man he loves. Shiro tastes tangy, of artificial electrolytes and vitamins in the water pouches they had in their last meeting, and Keith is thirstily trying to drink him down. He wants nothing more than to have Shiro filling up every atom of his being. Then Shiro pulls back – grinning with that same cocksure attitude Keith first saw when he gunned a hoverbike across the desert and jumped off a fucking cliff – and Keith responds in kind.

Shiro’s long been used to using only one hand, so it’s nothing for him to find the hidden closures of Keith under suit, separating the top from the leggings, rucking one up and the other down to strip him bare in seconds. Keith feels trapped by his remaining clothes, unable to properly spread his legs as Shiro palms the tacky mess staining his skin with a smug smile. Keith isn’t hard again already because he never wilted in the first place, and he lets out a whine as Shiro skims him with frustrating lightness.

The first buck has his husband laughing, but the second one slams up with enough force that the roll of Keith’s shoulders impacts his skull back into the floor with a painful thunk. Shiro frowns, and Keith is about to snarl when his husband goes from horny to sweet and concerned. But Shiro is a master of doing the unexpected. Keith suddenly finds his world spinning as he is deftly flipped over, both of Shiro’s hands pulling him up by his hips.

Shiro spreads his ass with thick thumbs, but this isn’t one of those times when Shiro gets lost in just looking at him, and Keith is nearly surprised enough to yelp, when his husband spits on his hole and uses the wetness to breach him with a finger. Knowing prep is necessary doesn’t do anything to quell Keith’s frustration, and he scratches as the floor until Shiro’s other hand wraps up his hair and pulls tight. Keith keens, Shiro snarls, then bites down on the meat of Keith’s shoulder with enough force to imprint his skin. Shiro keeps him pinned as he leans up once again, a second finger pushing past his rim, the stretch just the right side of hurried and painful. Keith jerks up into the touch when Shiro deliberately doesn’t pass over his prostate. His reward is to have the side of his jaw and temple pressed even more firmly into the cold floor.

He’s not patient enough for a third finger, and Keith knows if Shiro spouts his personal mantra about _focus_ he will actually scream and claw his own skin off. But Shiro’s not trying to tease him, and Keith is aware enough to realise his husband is only trying to ensure he doesn’t actually hurt himself in his rush to be fitted together. He feels the loss of Shiro’s big fingers like a physical pain, far worse than the dull ache of his curved spine and neck, but trills in unbridled delight when Shiro wraps his hips in both hands once more.

Cursory though Shiro’s prep might have been, it is still enough. Shiro’s crown presses against his opening, Keith jags out a ragged breath to the timing of Shiro squeezing his hips, and then his husband is sinking his considerable girth into him with one long movement. Keith yowls, because it hurts in the best way imaginable, and because no matter how long it’s been, the weight of Shiro inside him makes him feel like he’s swallowed the sun. His skin prickles, suddenly hot everywhere and his vision goes blurry and golden as he loses all ability to think beyond the hard shaft buried deep within him. The claw of his sharp fingers across the floor is almost painful.

Above him Shiro makes a choked noise, no less affected by the sight of himself vanishing into the smaller, narrower body of his husband, and his prosthetic hand clenches hard enough to bruise. It is one of those times where Keith would swear his husband can read his mind, because Shiro gives no pause, no time to wait and adjust. He simply pulls almost all the way out and fucks back in with hip-snapping force. It is exactly what Keith wants and needs.

Keith’s fangs snap on a broken bark of pleasure, unable to find the breath to finish the noise as Shiro pounds into him with total abandon. He is not angled particularly for Keith’s pleasure – though each sharp drag across his prostate has him clawing ineffectually at the floor – and Keith feels a brand of sharp and visceral joy at being used so by the man he loves. The Captain of the Atlas who just spent who knows how many hours being polite, diplomatic, and peaceable, is becoming almost as feral with raw lust as Keith, and it makes him proud. Shiro’s hands tighten on him again, breath hot against his spine as he curls over Keith, and then he shudders into silence as he comes. Keith half whines, not wanting to seem ungrateful but not wanting it to be over, as he feels the wet squelch of his husband’s cum where their bodies join. Shiro pants in his ear, everywhere they touch is hot and the strands of Shiro’s hair where it falls against Keith’s skin is damp with sweat. Keith braces himself for the loss of the full feeling he adores so much.

But Shiro is not softening inside him, and the hands which pull him upright are just as tense as before. Keith clenches and Shiro makes a deep, pleased sound in his chest as he wraps the cool metal of his prosthetic over Keith’s chest, pinning them together with Keith’s knees splayed wide around his own. Keith doesn’t care how desperate he sounds, he needs this, and Shiro’s dark chuckle is accompanied by a gentle roll of his hips in response.

It’s slow now, soft as Shiro fucks gently through his oversensitivity, and Keith lets every moan and purr fall from his lips regardless of the embarrassment. He knows Shiro loves the sounds he makes. He can feel his heart pounding, sweat prickling along his brow now as he shifts his hips back against each of Shiro’s thrusts, and the ear that Shiro’s teeth nip at is pointed. Shiro nails his prostate – a sharp and deliberate motion – and Keith bites his lip nearly hard enough to bleed. His husband is not far gone enough to be immune to pain, and Keith finds his hands being peeled from Shiro’s thighs, fresh blood and skin fragments under his wicked claws. Shiro encourages him to wrap his fingers harmlessly around his prosthetic. He takes the anchor willingly, and then clings on for dear life as Shiro fucks him hard enough to rob his lungs of oxygen. Human fingers card through his hair, pushing against his scalp deliciously before tightening their grip on the nape of his neck. Keith whines soundlessly as Shiro begins to thrust with short motions designed to rub as much of his cock against Keith’s sweet spot as possible; pressing into him mercilessly as his vision changes from softly blurred to washed out and hazed.

Keith goes from an eagerly smouldering ember to a solar flare in seconds, barely able to breathe as Shiro pins him to his chest and nails him with force. Pleasure claws its way through his brain, shredding the last remnants of his self-awareness, and he comes with a broken snarl without having ever been touched. Shiro follows behind, two solid thrusts and half a dozen heartbeats later. His drawn-out sigh of bone-deep pleasure raising goose bumps across Keith’s super-heated skin.

Shiro strokes his shoulder with his free hand, sweeping his hair from his face, and gently unlocks Keith’s hands from around his prosthetic. He shifts his hips, easing away, and Keith whines as he feels the sudden lack of fullness and heat within him. Shiro gets up on wobbly legs – muscles twitching visibly in his overworked thighs – and makes it to their couch before collapsing once more. There is a sealed water pouch on the end table, and he stabs the opening with the straw and takes a deep draught before offering it to Keith. Keith stares at his hand, then locks his digits into a fist, shaking his head.

Everything is still gold-tinted on the edges of his vision, his fingertips still end in claws, and his skin is still purple. Shiro makes a little concerned noise in the back of his throat, just one anxious expression away from asking him what the matter is. Keith fights back the desire to dig his hands into his eyes. He wants to go and join his husband in a boneless and sated heap on the sofa, sigh about their meetings and laugh over the latest video updates the other Paladins will have no doubt sent. He wants to, to wants to so badly that the fact he can’t almost hurts as much as the split in his lip he’s given himself with his fangs. Two orgasms and getting fucked to within an inch of his life should be plenty, but Keith can’t calm the inhuman racing of his heart or turn off the alien features of his mixed heritage. Anger builds upon frustration, his vision goes sharp with the narrowing of his slit pupils. Before he can actually hurt himself, Shiro is pulling him up with a hand around one wrist. He leads him to the couch, but arches an eyebrow in surprise as Keith simply slithers to the floor once more.

Keith feels guilty. Shiro is tired, Shiro is satisfied and happy, and Keith is going to upset him if he can’t make himself relax. The more he wants it, the more keyed up he becomes, but his growl comes out as a plaintive whine and he buries his head in his husband’s thigh.

Shiro doesn’t say anything, but he’s not the only one who can read his partner. Keith knows that Shiro would tell him to take his time, would offer anything to help Keith feel better, would give him whatever he wants. Keith runs his hands from knee to hip, wrapping around the meat of Shiro’s ass, deliberately avoiding any contact with his claws. He inhales the scent of his husband, post-sex and sweat and intimate in ways he cannot even begin to describe, and wills himself to let go and be normal once more. Shiro offers the water pouch again, clearly uneasy with his refusal, but Keith has seen something else he wants.

He can’t work out how to ask, and begging for permission has never been his style anyway, so Keith simply sinks closer in between Shiro’s spread thighs and nuzzles as the slick, softened shape of Shiro’s cock. Shiro clears his throat, but Keith whimpers before he’s even considered the nature of the noise, and Shiro clearly thinks better of whatever he was going to say. Above Keith, he relaxes into the upholstery, thighs easing apart, hands falling loose at his sides. It is in every way, an open invitation to let Keith have whatever he needs to make himself feel whole again.

Keith surges up to kiss him, trying to be mindful of his fangs until Shiro licks at them, clearly just happy to have Keith so close again. Then Keith slides down his husband’s lap and takes Shiro’s cock – soft and warm and wet with the cum which is already leaking down Keith’s inner thigh – into his mouth.

For a moment he forgets how to breathe, panics as the velvety girth filling him up pulses against his tongue. Then he shifts forward, inhales through his nose and drinks down Shiro’s scent again as he makes himself comfortable. The rearranging of limbs is the work of a moment, and Keith squeezes softly with his forearms pinned along Shiro’s legs and hips, laying his cheek against Shiro’s inner thigh. Shiro does not stir in his mouth – Keith would be shocked at this stage if he could – but hums with gentle inquisitiveness and Keith let’s his shoulders slump.

He loves being with Shiro, being close to Shiro, being naked with Shiro. He loves having any part of Shiro inside any part of him, and vice versa. But this is different. This isn’t something Keith’s doing with the ultimate intention of getting off, and it’s not relaxing like a massage is. Keith settles his head in Shiro’s lap, the tip of his nose brushing into the dark trail of hair at his crotch, lips going slack and wet around his soft cock. Keith glances up at Shiro – who is watching him back with quiet wonder – then gives in and lets his eyes slide shut. Already he never wants to move.

When Shiro’s fingers move tentatively over his hair, pleasure rolls down his spine like a wave across sand. His head feels heavy, his shoulder stiff, and he shuffles momentarily to tuck one arm down, fingers trailing against the floor as he slumps into the cushions of the couch and Shiro’s thighs. He makes a contented sound, and Shiro’s hand returns to his head, carding through his hair, thumb brushing his bangs away from his face. Keith smiles, despite his mouth being full, and sinks deeper into the sensation.

Shiro smells like him, a combination of them both that he can’t describe, and there’s something strangely visceral and possessive about knowing where his cock has so recently been. Keith almost wishes he could reach himself from his current position, but the angle would be awkward. The only thing better than feeling Shiro’s cum slipping from him after sex, is being plugged up enough to keep it all in. Shiro’s fingers move firm and rhythmically over his scalp now, palm stroking his hair in the same way he’d pet an animal, and Keith is glad no one is going to ask him to put into words why he likes it so much. Any other time, he might snap at the suggestion of being so coddled, but being collapsed on the floor with Shiro’s dick between his lips, it doesn’t seem to matter. When Shiro’s hand moves over his hair again, he tongues the underside of his cock, and Shiro let’s out a pleased grunt at the contact. Keith can feel the slow echo of Shiro’s pulse, and he sighs through his nose as he lets the sound draw him away from the too-fast rush of his own heartbeat.

Keith’s world is reduced down to a few basic fundamentals the longer he sits there. Shiro is warm, safe, happy. Shiro is stroking his hair. He is comfortable, his mouth is full, he doesn’t need to say anything. He is purring.

He swallows the mouthful of mixed saliva and fluids which would otherwise drool from the corner of his lips as he suckles gently on Shiro’s cock and feels the rumbling noise of his purr hitch as he does so. But it would take too much effort to stop the noise being produced in his chest, and Shiro doesn’t seem to mind. His husband’s fingers skim across his jaw – not skipping the dark line of his scar but lingering there, conforming to the texture of the damaged skin – and traces the natural, human curve of his earlobe for a moment. Keith sinks deeper against him, face pressed more flush to the soft skin of Shiro’s crotch, and his purr trills with a note of bright pleasure at having been successful in hauling himself at least part of the way back from the ragged edge of self-awareness.

Shiro’s big hand cradles the back of his skull, fingers rubbing slow circles behind his ears and into his temple, and Keith feels tethered, locked in his current position in the best possible way. Shiro smooths a blanket around his shoulders with his free hand, and Keith realises he was shivering only when he stops. He purrs his thanks, lapping at the cock which fills his mouth, and half uncurls one leg as he slides deeper into the blurred, hazy space between consciousness and sleep.

Keith gets lost in the motion of breathing – in and out – the two actions taking up all his remaining ability to concentrate and the rest of his mind sinks into tranquillity. Shiro’s scent fills him just as surely as his cock does, warm and comfortable and familiar in the best ways. The hairs of his treasure trail tickle his nose in a way which should be annoying, but is more reassuring than anything.

He next time his tongue drags Shiro’s velvety soft skin against his teeth, Keith realises his fangs are no longer a danger, and arches into the hand which strokes his hair. Shiro grips him around the back of his neck, fingers soft but firm, and Keith goes totally pliant as he is gently scruffed. It’s easy to do as Shiro desires, because all Keith wants is to stay in his lap, and when Shiro returns to petting his hair, it seems that’s all he wants too. Keith tongues the head of Shiro’s cock without intent. He purrs when Shiro groans, and allows himself to fall away.

Eventually the fingers in his hair are smoothing in a far more deliberate manner, and Keith’s jaw feels achy. He opens one eye, glancing up to find Shiro looking down on him with such infinite care and softness that it makes Keith want to melt rather than be separated from him by even a micron of distance. Shiro smiles, and strokes the soft bulge of his cheek with one thumb.

“Hey there...” Shiro’s voice is low and sweet and banked with love. “You fell asleep there a minute. No-” The hand in his hair keeps him exactly in position. “-no apologies. You’re perfect.”

Keith reaches for him, and finds Shiro’s prosthetic fingers tangled with his own. His nails are back to their rounded, short length, and his skin is pale and pinkish against the gleaming white metal. He moves to say something, but his mouth is still full. Instead, Shiro simply cups his jaw, thumb tracing the soft shape of himself through Keith’s cheek.

“Gods baby. You’re so beautiful.”

Keith could pull off him, he probably should. His lips are stretched and wet, his jaw is bordering on sore from so long in one position, his foot has fallen asleep; and there’s a tacky, wet mess across his stomach and between his legs. But the idea of being away from Shiro fills him with dread, the concept of saying anything even more so, and even though Keith knows his husband won’t push him to explain himself, he knows himself too well. He’ll be tripping over his words to find some justification for his behaviour and his abominable lack of control before he can stop himself. But more important than any of that, is the fact Keith’s not felt this relaxed, this completely at ease, in what feels like months. He has his head in Shiro’s lap, Shiro’s fingers moving through his hair, his husband’s cock in his mouth and can feel his pulse through his tongue, and a little part of him wonders why he can’t just stay there forever. He glances up at Shiro again, but his grey eyes are only soft and fond, and a little crinkled at the corners with his smile.

“Whatever you need baby.”

And Keith does need. He needs not to think for a while longer. He needs to get out of his own head. He needs the smooth, intimate flesh of the man he loves between his lips. He hums softly, and the moment Shiro’s fingers drag across his skull again the noise switches from his throat to his chest and he starts to purr once more. Above him, Shiro shifts, and Keith flicks his gaze over to see Shiro reaching for a curled-edged paperback book with his prosthetic hand.

“You don’t mind?”

Keith doesn’t mind, though Shiro’s fairly recent habit of reading not only actual printed paper back novels, but terrible romance ones with nearly soft-core pornographic covers, would usually raise a comment from him which would earn him a swat on the ass from his husband. Shiro likes to read something that can’t be swiped aside when a message pings in through the ship’s comms, and Keith can’t fault him for that desire.

Shiro settles in with his book, holding it to one side so that he can still watch Keith, and Keith can still see him, and the hand in his hair does not cease the smooth petting motion which has his eyes sliding shut once more. Keith inhales a deep lungful of his husband’s scent, the best combination of sandalwood and soap and sweat in the entire universe, and decides that dealing with discussions of whatever this is can be a problem for Future Keith. All he needs to do now is be here, be human, be in love with Shiro, and these are things he knows he can do.

Keith stays with his head in Shiro’s lap, Shiro’s hand in his hair, and his world reduces down to the most important elements he knows.

Shiro is warm, safe, happy, and touching him.

He is comfortable, his mouth is full, he is purring.

He is loved.

And nothing else matters.

**Author's Note:**

> Please come chat with us on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/SashaDistan)
> 
> This author responds to comments.
> 
> Thank you to the incredible [Lole](https://twitter.com/@leandralena) for being an awesome beta reader.


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